


Westfallen

by DirtyDuchess



Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-11
Updated: 2017-01-12
Packaged: 2018-09-16 22:26:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9292130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DirtyDuchess/pseuds/DirtyDuchess
Summary: A Jidget fic.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NoxIrradiata](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoxIrradiata/gifts).



> Dedicated to Nox. Well, it was your idea and you wanted it SO badly lol! But with heartfelt thanks also for your suggestions, wonderful chats and our blossoming friendship :-) 
> 
> Thanks also to JoansGlove for your assistance and allowing me poetic license with the wonderful Off They Come.
> 
> And Ifitbeloved for your wonderful suggestions. You're so much better than me at plot detail!

"Ms Westfall."  
Joan stood as still as a statue in the middle of the corridor. Arms folded, she enjoyed the look of shock on the psychologist's face as the smaller woman almost walked straight into her. She'd obviously been hoping to avoid seeing Joan as she sneaked into Doyle's hearing. Tsk, did she really think that Joan wouldn't anticipate her trying a trick like this! Her and Doyle were like a pair of hormone-addled teenagers desperate to get round the back of the bike shed. Of course she'd be there. She congratulated herself on having had the foresight to get the reception duty officer to notify her immediately should the disgraced ex-staff member appear. 

With real effort she suppressed a smirk as she cast her mind back an hour or so ago; remembering the way Franky had pushed herself back onto her fingers during the strip search; how she'd rotated her hips to best fucK them. Her hand twitched, involuntarily brushing against a nipple that was achingly hard and pressing against her uniform. The way Doyle had shouted insults at her whilst simultaneously being unable to prevent her body’s betrayal had made the entire episode all the more delightful.

She could feel slick wetness oozing between her legs and her heartbeat booming steadily in her ears like a raging torrent of blood. It had always been like that when she was aroused, as long as she could remember, she mused. No matter. Fixing her face with her most ingratiating smile she praised the blond. "So, you made it after all."  
"No thanks to you," the bitch replied sarcastically.  
Opening hostilities early was she? To be fair, Westfall had done that on her very first day in the job, cockily challenging every protocol and decision. Tilting her head slightly to one side, Joan eyed the psychologist blatantly from head to toe. 

Her blond hair was tied back in a loose ponytail, longer strands falling loose. As if it would take more than an additional thirty seconds to do her hair properly! She had a pretty face when she wasn't frowning. A thin nose, tanned skin; freckles covered her chest and the hollow of her throat was.... alluring. There was no other word for it. Joan longed to run her forefinger over it. She was wearing a simple blue pinstripe pantsuit with a tight, low cut white t-shirt, which emphasised her breasts, and blue heels. Joan appreciated the look. It suited her. She knew what made her look good and she had a certain swagger. Joan recognised a woman who was comfortable with who and what she was. So why on earth she would be attracted to a perpetual no-hoper like Doyle was a mystery to Joan. The woman obviously wasn't in control of her base urges. Didn't understand how to channel them to her advantage, like Joan did. 

Right now her own bodily urges were screaming at her. The liaison with Doyle had been unexpectedly pleasurable. It was always titillating to humiliate an adversary but for them to be aroused against their own will in turn! That was so very sweet. And hot. It was only her desire not to show Doyle (too much) how much she had enjoyed their encounter, as well as not wanting to provide too good a show for Vera, that had stopped her ripping her own pants down and riding Franky's arse. Her errant Deputy had undoubtedly been creaming her underwear watching the live feed but she had no intention of giving her any further ammunition before she got to wipe the tape. 

"I need to speak to you, Ms Westfall. It's urgent."  
"Well it'll have to wait. Franky's hearing starts in..," she looked at her watch, "just over ten minutes."  
"Then I'll make it quick."  
Stepping into Bridget's personal space, Joan backed her towards the door to their left that led to the CCTV surveillance room, leaning past her to open it with a swipe of her key card. "After you."  
Pursing her lips but not arguing, the psychologist stepped through the door.  
"What's this all......" 

Bridget stalked into the room and turned to face Joan, arms crossed, an impatient expression on her pretty face. Joan took her time. She closed the door silently behind her and smiled.  
"What if I were to go into Doyle's hearing now and reveal details of your...relationship? Hhhm? What do you think the outcome would be?"  
"Nothing happened!"  
"Ah, but where there's smoke...Do you think the parole board would really let Franky out if there was the slightest hint of a leSbian liaiSon between the prison psychologist and an inmate? Would you like a list of allegations? Hand holding in the corridor, kissing in the library. Shall I continue?"  
Waving a hand towards the bank of screens to their left she added, "It's all here, on tape." She smiled wickedly and watched the woman shift uncomfortably.  
"Why do you think Vera told me you'd be here today?" Joan smiled inwardly at the lie, knowing how the perceived betrayal of trust would hurt the psychologist's feelings. Decent people were so easy to manipulate!  
"You know Vera wants you, don't you? Have you seen the way she looks at you? Do you think she fantasises about you and Franky? NaKed. Imagining the two of you together in the library. FucKing. Do you think it makes her weT?"

Bridget finally began protesting. "I've had enough of this. Vera's got the mark of you, Ferguson, don't you worry." Joan moved quickly towards her with a swivel of her hips. She deliberately invaded Bridget's personal space again, standing mere inches from her. Against her better judgement, Joan was impressed. The psychologist stood her ground despite the foot or more in height difference between them; she neither flinched nor stepped back. Joan finally gave in to her desire and traced the hollow of Bridget’s throat with long fingers. Breathing deeply she tucked stray locks of hair behind the woman’s ear and gently pulled her earrings, stretching the lobes. Bridget's breath hitched. She felt the tug deep in her cunt. What the fuck!

"Did you think about Vera and I? Hhmm? Was that why you tried to turn her against me? Were you jealous thinking about what we did together in my office late at night, all alone. Why do you think she came running to you? Poor. Jilted. Vera. The perpetual woman scorned."  
Bridget's eyebrows shot up. She looked shocked.  
"Did Vera never tell you, Ms Westfall? We had a VERY close working relationship."  
Joan backed Bridget against the wall. The pinboard behind her shifted sideways. Leaning forward Joan pushed her breasts close to the woman’s face; slid a thigh between Bridget's own, pushing it into the woman's mons.

"I think you, on the other hand, have a taste for the forbidden. Am I right, BridgeT? Prisoners, superiors..." Resting one hand against the wall at the side of Bridget's head, she sank her teeth into the side of the psychologist's neck and slid the other hand up a smooth trousered leg towards a burning crotch. "Mmmmm, are you hoT?" Bridget writhed and tried to push Joan away. She felt so conflicted. What about Franky! She needed her. But the waves of heat from Joan's body, it was intoxicating. Her strength, her power, the sound of the woman's laboured breathing in her ear. She was almost panting.

She couldn't deny her fascination with The Governor. She'd been watching her closely for weeks. Years of listening to the identical problems, the misery, of downtrodden, vulnerable woman faded into grey compared to Joan Ferguson, who burned scarlet in comparison. Charismatic, devious, successful and so undeniably sexual. Her insatiable hunger for power masked an even greater hunger for human connection - and terror of the vulnerability that would bring. She was exotic, herself a likely criminal, possibly even a psychopath; she showed traits at least. But she was such an enigma. Despite herself, Bridget’s cunt clenched as she thought the word psychopath. How would it feel, to be fucked by this dangerous woman?

Her thoughts hotwired as Joan slowly ran the edge of her nail over Bridget's nipple through her thin top. Bridget groaned, her nipple springing to life and hardening under the exquisite touch. Joan smiled knowingly and slid the blue jacket from the psychologist's narrow shoulders, lifted the white t-shirt over her head, making sure to lightly graze Bridget's ribs with her fingertips, and reached round her back to unhook her bra. As the white lace garment fell to the floor, Joan heard a whispered, "please don't." The blond's eyes were closed but she did not move. Joan seized the moment to quickly cuff her hands behind her back; her pert, luscious tits pointed enticingly upwards as her shoulders were forced back. She needed to speed things up a little. It wouldn’t look good for them both to arrive late and flushed to the hearing. Eyes drawn to Bridget’s hard brown nipples, Joan first tickled then pulled them. She bent her head and caught one between full red lips and suckled hard. Bridget cried out. "Oh god!" Her cunt clenched and she felt the trickle of wetness as her body responded to The Governor's foreplay, despite her mind's reluctance. 

Joan pulled her customary black latex gloves from the pouch on her belt. Pulling them on, she moved even closer to Bridget and planted her feet on either side of the psychologist's then unzipped and pulled her trousers down to her ankles. Sliding her hands down the back of white lace bikini briefs she massaged muscled arse cheeks. The woman obviously worked out. "You're hot, Bridget." Joan crooned in her ear. "And you know it." Joan yanked the knickers down forcefully. She felt a sense of triumph as they clung to Bridget's legs in their stickiness. She sank to her haunches to remove them properly and ran her tongue back up Bridget's smooth inner thigh. Her nostrils dilated as she inhaled Bridget's obvious arousal. Joan felt victorious. This woman had irked her for so long with her constant probing questions, her pathetic so-called psychological insights, her pandering to the prisoners. And all the while she'd been an utter hypocrite to boot if Doyle was anything to go by. Meg Jackson’s murder aside, she wondered how many other crimes the psychologist had covered up in return for a fuck from a pretty dyke prisoner.

Joan's clit was pulsing at the lewd thought; she could feel it beating steadily between her legs. She was so very wet. First Franky and now Bridget - she hadn't expected taking both women to be so very easy.  
Her eyes flickered between the woman's hard brown nipples and the scant thatch of pale damp curls between her opening thighs.  
“Just do it, get on with it!”  
“If you insiSt,” whispered Joan. She slid her ring, middle and forefingers easily into the woman’s sticky, wet hole and began to fuck her, hard and fast. Time was of the essence. Another surprise! It was rare for three of her generous fingers to vanish so readily into the cunt of such a small woman. What a shame there wasn’t enough time to see just how far she could stretch her. She bit into Bridget’s neck but took great care not to mark the skin. Her other hand covered a whole breast, squeezing hard, thumb and forefinger manipulating the elongated nipple.

“Just imagine it's Franky inside you if it helps. But it seems you're wet enough anyway.”  
Oh god, thought Bridget, she was good. She felt so full. She was so very wet and hard. Her hips moved in a steady rhythm, desperate to feel the full impact of those thick fingers. She couldn't deny how much this dangerous woman turned her on, how much she wanted her to make her come.  
“Fuck me harder, you bitch!”  
“Come now, dear, the niceties must be observed.” Joan upped her pace, pulling her fingers almost completely out of her before ramming them back inside.  
“Hurry up, BridgeT, there's not much time!”

She could feel her mind enter a plain of utter calm as she watched the desperate woman writhe and moan. This was how it should be; The Governor controlling her pawns, sweeping her enemies from the board. She began to massage the psychologist’s clit, sliding her thumb ferociously over and around the swollen nub. “Fuck. Fuck,” Bridget sobbed, as her pleasure reached ecstatic heights, detonating deep in her cunt and spreading through her whole body. Her cunt walls spasmed repeatedly around The Governor’s fingers, gripping them fiercely. She sank back against the wall, spent and sated.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joan's feeling left out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the edit and your assiStance, Nox xx

“And now it's my turn.”  
“Oh god, please." Joan wasn't quite certain if the psychologist was begging to fuck her or for this to end. She fumbled with her belt buckle and unzipped her fly with trembling fingers. She felt most uncharacteristically beside herself with lust, all control gone, her cunt throbbing so furiously she knew she’d come so hard and fast. Just as well! She’d waited long enough, contained herself until this perfect moment. The buzz she felt from fucking a second woman within the hour; righteous power pulsed inside her. She knew that neither would ever readily admit what they had done. Shame was such a powerful driver in those who were unable to accept their darker urges. The connection between Doyle and Westfall and the devastation she knew the two would feel when it transpired that this had happened heightened her sense of victory. It would destroy them before they’d truly begun!

Bridget was still slumped against the wall, her beautiful chest heaving. More hair had fallen loose from her ponytail; her face was deeply flushed and cast down to the floor. She refused to meet Joan’s penetrating gaze.  
“Don’t you want to see what you’ve done to your Governor? The effect you’ve had on me?”  
Bridget shook her head furiously.  
“For Franky’s sake….”  
“You can’t do this, Ferguson!”  
“Do what? COME now, Bridget. Oh, how funny...you just did!” Joan let out a bark of laughter and left the sardonic words to hang in the air between them.

The pulsing between her thighs had steadied; she could wait a minute more. She had no intention of forcing Westfall to her knees. Leaning closer she reached behind the psychologist and untied her wrists, making sure to exhale against her sensitive neck. Predictably she saw the woman shiver; they always did. “See, your arms are free.” Grasping a wrist Joan began to slowly massage feeling back into it then quickly rammed the hand into her open trousers.

“I don’t want you to feel left out, dear. You were so delightfully weT.”  
Joan guided the resistant fingers over her clit, allowing herself just one delicious, electrifying stroke before pushing the hand further into her slit. She herself was pleasantly surprised at the copiousness of sticky wetness she found there. But then a prisoner and her bitch had never succeeded in making her quite so hot before!  
“Fuck…Joan,” Bridget gasped.  
“That’s it, yeees,” hissed The Governor as she slid their entwined fingers back and forth. With her other hand, she pushed her trousers and knickers to her ankles.

Bridget's inner turmoil was raging. What the fuck kind of game was Ferguson playing? Fucking her, Bridget, to prove how weak she was. She got that. But Ferguson, who was so cut off from everyone, letting her in, demanding to be fucked back! Her intrigue mounted as her fingers slid over Joan's slippery, soft flesh; her resistance ebbing away as her body responded to the arousal of the other woman.

Stepping out of her trousers and underwear Joan shifted further into the room, pulling Bridget with her by the wrists over to the table where banks of screens stood. She perched on the edge unbuttoning and removing her shirt and tie and stared at the psychologist, eyes darkened, face flushed with lust. 

As their eyes met, Bridget knew it was decision time. In her mind’s eye she saw the title of a groundbreaking research paper, The Sex Lives of Psychopaths; of having it published it in The Australian Journal of Psychology, better still in the American Journal. It could be the makings of her career: a book deal, a professorship, the conference trail in the US. The thought made her so hot. She shoved Joan decisively back onto the table, breathing hard as Joan unhooked her black lace bra and freed luscious, heavy tits, her nipples huge and swollen, as she caressed them with manicured fingertips. Bridget's breathing hitched and she rubbed her clit against the rounded edge of the table at the sight of them. 

Pushing The Governor onto her back she lowered her face into Joan's cunt, all thoughts of Franky forgotten. Her scent was tangy with sweat and pungent with arousal. Bridget’s tongue extended automatically and slithered through damp, dark curls, down between swollen, magenta labia, finally dipping into the source of wetness itself. She dipped inside Joan’s entrance before lavishing her wet vulva with firm licks and sucks from perineum to large swollen clit, eating out The Governor with determined delight, feasting on her. Drawing the slippery bud between her lips she pressed and sucked building up a steady rhythm. She deliberately dug her nails hard into Joan’s inner thighs; hard enough, she knew, to leave deep, red crescent-shaped marks. Fucking bitch though; judging by the noises she was making she was enjoying it! 

As Joan began to ride the final wave of arousal to orgasm she focused hard on the faces of Doyle and Westfall. The knowledge that in mere minutes she'd be sat in Franky's hearing within feet of the two women she'd seduced caused another surge of wetness to be released. The question would then be merely how and where to reveal their shameful shared secret. Bridget chose precisely that moment to plunge her fingers inside Joan. "Aaggh, Lick me. Fuck me! Do it!" Joan lay flat on her back, knees raised and wide apart, long toes curled over the table edge, as she pushed her cunt into her adversary's face. 

Already so wet, so close, within seconds of the finger fucking starting The Governor felt tremors begin inside her cunt and humping Bridget's face hard, stimulated her sparking clit until it exploded into one of the sweetest orgasms she'd ever experienced. She slumped back on the table stroking her heaving breasts, her hips still churning, snorting in her pleasure and righteous triumph. 

**********************************************************************************

They dressed hurriedly, backs to each other. Joan could hardly contain her delight. Within seconds she looked impeccable. Tucking the final loose strand of hair back into her bun she turned to face the psychologist. The smaller woman was still naked from the waist down. "Where the fuck is my underwear!?"  
"Are you looking for this, Ms Westfall?" Joan dangled the lace briefs from her fingers.  
"Give them to me!" The psychologist lunged at Joan but she lifted them above her head out of reach. "Fuuck, Ferguson!"  
"Come now, Ms Westfall, you'd better hurry or we'll be late for the hearing."

**********************************************************************************

Joan sat, Bridget to her left, a smirk playing around her lips although she forced herself to look straight ahead. Her hand had twitched as Doyle entered the hearing room, a delightful image of the naked woman's swaying breasts filled her mind; the memory of her shunting her cunt back onto Joan's fingers made her clit spark again. Glancing to her left, she noted with delight that Bridget was looking at the floor rather than at her young love. Oh the shame of it; the desperate desire to hide her true needs was truly pitiful. The tip of Joan's tongue ventured through her lips as she imagined just how sticky Westfall's cunt would still be. Especially as the woman's knickers were currently in her trouser pocket! Maybe a wet patch would be seeping through her trousers soon. Oh, it was just too delightful. Glancing surreptitiously at the psychologist's face she saw how red Bridget’s mouth and chin were. Joan almost laughed out loud at the telltale sign of recent cunnilingus and wondered if Franky, an expert in the Sapphic arts if ever she knew one, would notice. Hhmm unlikely, with a gut full of heroin, she mused. Right now Doyle had much more serious things to worry about. Survival, for one.


End file.
